


you're the balloon // i'm the ballast attached to the string

by LetsSpinTheWheel



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsSpinTheWheel/pseuds/LetsSpinTheWheel
Summary: “When Lovett is president I’ll be retired and growing radishes out back like Michelle”





	you're the balloon // i'm the ballast attached to the string

**Author's Note:**

> This premise was too good to pass up: https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/theotherapps/182757659811
> 
> Thank you to thesmallestacorn for the very thorough beta
> 
> Title from “This Wild Ride” by Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness
> 
> KIS, KIS; the fourth wall is our friend

Maybe it was the shape; the lack of corners or straight lines producing strange echoes. Or maybe it was the ghosts of history hanging in the air.

Whatever it was, this room was way too quiet.

So whenever President Jonathan Lovett found himself alone in the Oval Office, he struggled with the silence. He was used to working amidst noise and chaos, crammed 3 in an office with 24-hour news a low murmur in the background. He’d been here a few months and still he could not get used to it. He couldn’t concentrate on the memo in front of him, detailing the progress that had been made towards electrifying American home heating systems and the projected reduction in carbon emissions that would result. It was remarkable progress, to be sure, from where they’d been at the start of the term, but it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. That felt true about every issue that ended up on his desk. He cared so deeply, and he now had so much power to affect...well, everything. It was terrifying.

He lifted his head and leaned back in his chair, scanning the room. The eyes of too many Dead Presidents stared back at him from busts and portraits.

How had any of them felt adequate to the mantle of this office? He secretly hoped they hadn’t, but he suspected somehow, they had. When did it happen? Were they ready the moment they walked in the door, or did it take time for them to grow into the office? He’d come a long way from the beginning of the term; he no longer looked around, confused, when someone addressed him as Mr. President, but he still felt unprepared every single day.

His eyes fell on the door to the adjoining office. He had, of course, followed the Jed Bartlet Principle for choosing a Chief of Staff (“You got a best friend? Is he smarter than you?”) so Jon Favreau was behind the sturdy oak slab, probably frowning at the same report, which they were meeting on in fifteen minutes. Glad as he was to have Favs by his side, it still felt a little like the grown-ups had stepped away and they were only temporarily in charge.

He stood. He turned his back on the room and looked out the window. It was a gorgeous late spring day. Without really thinking about where he was going, he walked out the side door of the Oval Office, out into the Rose Garden.

“Sir?” the agent posted outside the door asked him.

Lovett whipped around. “Oh, uh, just…stretching my legs?”

The agent nodded and spoke into his sleeve, “Radius is on the move, Rose Garden.” Then he gestured to Lovett as if to say “after you”. This was yet another aspect of his life now that felt utterly surreal. People were always following him, even when he had no idea where he was going. He began walking out of the Rose Garden and down on to the South Lawn.

As he walked, he glimpsed two other Secret Service agents standing in the distance, halfway down the lawn, and all of a sudden, he knew exactly where he was walking. Tucked in on the side of the South Lawn, in amongst the trees, was the White House Kitchen Garden. And as he rounded the grove of trees, giving a nod to the other agents, he saw exactly what he was expecting: crouched by the edge of one of the raised beds, with a tray of seedlings on his right-hand side, studiously digging with a trowel, was Ronan. As he turned his head to pick up a plant, the sunlight glinted off his hair, hiding the spots near his temples where his hair had lightened beyond his usual blond; not yet gray, but heading there. He cupped a plant delicately in his gardening gloves and lowered it into the hole.

___Lovett had expected a fight, a difficult conversation at least, when he eventually broached the topic of what running for office would mean for Ronan’s career. He had intended to put it off as long as he could._  
___But instead, one day in the back of an SUV on the way from one Iowa chicken dinner to another, Ronan turned to him and said, “So I’m going to continue working on articles that don’t in any way touch presidential politics until maybe a month out from the first primaries, and then I’ll have the last book in my deal which I’ll hopefully be able to finish by the Inauguration and then it’ll be State Dinner planning and flower arranging from there on out.”_  
___“You…you’re going to…retire?” Jon asked incredulously._  
___“No, of course not, being First Gentleman is going to be a more than full-time job.”_  
___“But I mean, that’s, that’s not your career or anything…”_  
___“I’ve had enough of a career at this point, don’t you think? And besides, you’re Constitutionally limited to 8 years, I’d still be young enough to get back in the game then. What do you think my pet project should be? I’m not much for jumping jacks, and “literacy” is kind of over-done…”_  
___“But, I mean, this is…I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I might not even make it through the caucus.”_  
___“Well, I can afford to take a few months off regardless, right? And I have a feeling you’ll be in this for the long haul,” he leaned over and pecked Lovett on the cheek._  
___Lovett couldn’t do anything but stare, dumbfounded, out the window as they turned in the drive at the Legion Hall._

_____ _

He snapped suddenly out of his reverie as he realized he had walked right up behind Ronan, almost tripping over a bag of soil. Desperately wanting to mask the sentimentality he was feeling he said the first inappropriate thing that came to his mind: “Ooh, looks like you’ve got some big melons there,”

Ronan dusted off his gloves and stood up, retorting as he turned around: “Hey, watch yourself, I’ve reported on sexual harassment by presidents before, and I’ll do it again.”

“Uh oh, I better behave,” Lovett smiled. “But I thought you retired from being MeToo’s avenging angel?”

“You think The New Yorker wouldn’t still take my calls?”

“Oh, I know they would.” He stepped toward Ronan with his arms outstretched and Ronan peeled the gloves off his hands, gave Lovett a kiss and wrapped him in a hug.

“Which is why I’m sticking to doing this,” Ronan chuckled, nodding towards the garden bed. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other reporters. You talk too much in your sleep.”

“I do not!” Lovett replied, fake-scandalized.

Ronan arched one eyebrow, refusing to take the bait, and instead took a step back and asked: “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this mid-day visit, Jonathan?”

“Um, just, you know, stretching my legs?”

“Oh?” Ronan said, neutrally, not buying Lovett’s story, but not pushing either.

“It’s…it’s too quiet in my office.”

“I can imagine. Where’s Pundit? I bet she’d liven things up a little.”

Lovett smiled. “She’s doing a photo op with the kids who are here for the Science Fair event. And I’ve got a meeting with important people who would prefer not to get dog hair on them in, ah-” he checked his watch, “eight minutes.” He sighed. He’d love nothing more than to spend the whole afternoon out here in the sun, planting vegetables and trading jokes with Ronan, freed from his overwhelming responsibilities for a few hours, at least.

“You want me to walk back up with you?” Ronan offered, sliding his hand into Jon’s and interlacing their fingers.

“I’d like that. I miss you.” Jon snuck a quick kiss onto Ronan’s cheek.

“I know, who knew it’d feel like we saw each other more when we lived on opposite coasts?” Ronan said as they began walking back up the lawn.

“Well, someone decided their pet project was going to be international aid and development. How many days of this administration have you even been in the country?”

“I am very carefully assuring that it’s at least 51% so as not to arouse the ire of Congressional Republicans.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then. I hope the children remember what you look like when we’re done here.” Lovett quipped.

“Hey! Remember your “I’ll be at the dinner table at 7pm every night” pledge? What’s your batting average on that one, hmm?”

Lovett dropped his head, voice low, “I know, I’m sorry. I wish I was there more. I’m going to try—”

“Hey, hey,” Ronan cut him off, lifting Jon’s chin with his hand. “It’s okay. We’re glad we get to see you when we do. What you’re doing is important, we knew there were going to be a lot of late nights. You’re doing your best.”

Jon still couldn’t look him in the eye. “I…I’m trying, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m failing at everything all at once. Every decision is so…massive and it’s just constant. I want to do right but I just can’t.”

“I have a hard time believing that you’re failing at everything.”

Jon shrugged.

“I know it’s hard. This is a huge job, a huge responsibility. But the American people thought you were up to it, and they have never...uh, their judgement...” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence in a way Jonathan wouldn’t clock as total bullshit.

Jon laughed. “Nice try.”

“Ok, how’s this: I think you’re up to it, and I know you pretty well. You care so much, and that’s a good thing. I know you want to do right by everyone, and it’s the first time in a long time that’s been true, maybe the first time ever. You’re going to mess up occasionally, but that’s ok. I sleep a lot easier at night knowing you’re the one in charge.”

Jon wiggled his eyebrows, “Oh is that it?”

___Lovett didn’t know how most Presidents and their spouses spent the night of the Inauguration but he and Ronan wasted no time “inaugurating” their bed in the Residence._  
___As they were laying together afterward, Jon lost in thought about the significance of what he’d done that day, what he was about to do, and what they’d just done, Ronan said, “What’s on your mind?”_  
___Lovett paused just a second too long with his answer._  
___“I swear, if you’re thinking about how this is a rebuke to Mike Pence!” Ronan exclaimed, exasperated. “You idiot. You’re going to be a great president on your own terms. And I don’t want you conjuring that creep into our bed. Ugh.” He gave a full body shudder to emphasize the point._  
___After Lovett finished shaking with laughter, he kissed Ronan and said, “I’ve fallen in love with you all over again.”_  
___Ronan sighed and muttered, “I would’ve been very happy to be wrong about this.”_

As the memory faded, Lovett realized they were practically in the Rose Garden, almost back to his office and the spot where he’d have to leave Ronan, cease to be Jonathan and resume the mantle of President Lovett.

Hoping to delay the moment, he stopped, wrapped an arm around Ronan’s back and leaned his head on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan brought a hand up to the nape of his neck and rested it there, warm and familiar.

Half an eye always on the messaging, just like Dan taught him, it occurred to Lovett that if the photographer was here, this would make a great shot: Jon and Ronan sharing a moment together on the lawn, Ronan with his gardening gloves tucked in his back pocket, Jon in one of his nicer suits, the Rose Garden framed in the background.

He paused to capture the picture himself, mentally. It still didn’t feel real that the wild, winding ride they’d been on together had wound up here. Their first date had happened less than three miles from the spot they were standing in, and yet those years had taken them across the country and around the world and through Mossad agents and war zones and election seasons and media empires and births and deaths and more than he ever thought one relationship could stand. When they traded vows at their wedding, it felt like they’d already lived up to all of them and more. There was no template for vows that included “in being tailed by foreign operatives and in winning Pulitzers, in cancelled sitcoms and in sold-out live shows”.

Ronan noticed his distant gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

Lovett didn’t quite have the words. “I’m…I’m just so glad you’re here with me. I’ve said it before but...I…I don’t think I could do this—I mean, I feel like I’m barely doing it as it is—but I could never have done this without you. And I…I know that in your heart of hearts you’re not a radish farmer or a State Dinner planner or whatever and I just…I really appreciate that you’re doing this for me.”

Ronan was looking at him a little askance. “You know there are so many things that I never could have achieved without you, right? I know I’ve told you this before. There are so many times that a conversation with you was the difference between giving up and some of the biggest accomplishments of my career. This is what we do for each other. For the record, radishes are a winter crop; I am transplanting some zucchini squash today. But that’s beside the point, because in my heart of hearts I love you, and this is what you do for the people you love.”

Lovett did not know what to do with that. He reached out, took Ronan’s cheek in hand and tipped his face down, trying to put everything he was feeling into a kiss.

“Did I ever tell you the story of the time I performed a wedding right over there?” he asked, pointing to the center of the garden by the colonnade.

“You have. Several times. And you also told literally all of American on Election Night.” Ronan’s smile was equal parts bemused and fond; this was the best part of being married—listening to the other person tell you the same stories over and over again, enjoying them just as much every time. He reached for Jon’s hand, threaded their fingers together and gave a little squeeze.

“Oh yeah,” Lovett said absently, smile on his face. He had lost count of the number of times he’d wished he could tell his high school self about a future that would’ve seemed impossible to that scared, bullied kid. But as he stood in the sunshine of the Rose Garden, his husband’s hand in his, he was awed by what he’d have to tell the twenty-nine-year-old version of himself, by what had become possible in only a couple decades.

_That boy from State that you’re starting to fall for? Yeah, you’re gonna be back here with him sooner than you could ever imagine. With rings on your fingers. And the keys to the whole place. It’s not going to be an easy ride—you have no idea how hard it’s going to be, how bad things are going to look sometimes—but he’s going to believe in you more than anyone’s believed in you and you’re going to believe in him more than you’ve ever believed in anything and that’s going to be enough—more than enough._

**Author's Note:**

> ty to everyone who gave input on Lovett's code name and CoS choice


End file.
